Category Archives: SAHM More

9) Why does it have to be 10? Who decided that 10 is the magic number for a list? And how can I write a “Top 10″ if that is what I’m ranting about? That would make me a hypocrite.

8) There was a time when I would have put Richard Marx on my Top 10. Is this list supposed to quantify all-time or just this week? No one clarifies this very important distinction. Curious minds need to know.

7) The powers that be say to catch a reader’s attention with a Top 10 list. If what you have to say isn’t interesting enough on its own, why would I want to read 10 things?

6) Is it ascending or descending? Is it like a 3rd degree burn or the 1st place winner?

5) How does one decide what makes the cut? It is torture! I was once tagged to write my top 10 books. How am I supposed to narrow it down to 10?

4) And on the contrary, sometimes you only have 6 all-time favorites and then you have to throw in a few consolatory choices. They are nowhere near as good as the others and yet they made the same list.

3) Because the only people who are going to read your Top 10 list are the last 10 people who YOU read and liked and commented on.

1) Because the number 1 is never as witty as number 3 or 4. It is always a letdown.

This list was not written in any scientific manner but in an early morning daze. Some were pre-coffee, some post. Thoughts and Opinions are my own. Which means this list is, for all intents and purposes, useless.

Now, please take this with a grain of salt. I will still likely read and enjoy any lists that my fellow writers create. But only if you read mine first. Happy Friday!

Lately The Drunken Cyclist has been writing a Friday rant or rave which I have enjoyed. Although he is much better at it, I decided to follow his lead. Thanks for the inspiration, Jeff. You have a place on my top 10.

My favorites gifts have always been those which cannot be wrapped. They are gifts that say, “I see you. I am listening.” They may or may not come on any appointed day, but their value is intrinsic and enduring.

I have been in several stores this week and, everywhere you look, there are marketing sections centered around Mother’s Day. I watched the crowds swell in front of the card section yesterday as I made a return. Pre-made bouquets line the checkout lines and I shudder to think of the jewelry store budgets. To what end?

Most mothers that I know, mine included, just want extra hugs and a day off from dishes. We love the handmade cards from our children and the gratitude and care from our spouses, but that is all we need. (And some pink bubbles don’t hurt.)

But I know that I am one of the lucky ones. Anne Lamott posted a rant on her Facebook page yesterday about the holiday. And while her stance is more extreme than mine, it solidified some of the notions I have been having this week. I have been acutely aware of the pain that accompanies this, and many holidays, for people I love dearly.

I have friends that have lost mothers in recent years; the pain, which is always there, is magnified.

I have other friends who had mothers that they did not want to celebrate, the disappointment palpable.

I have friends that see the window of opportunity closing. They wanted to have children but are now understanding that age is working against them.

I have friends that have lost children, in pregnancy and years later. I cannot imagine the hole that will never be filled.

I have watched the avoidance, the cues, the attempts to put on a happy face from those that have not been able to have children, despite years of trying.

One woman I love more than life told me, “It is a sadness that never really goes away…people ask you ask the time, do you have kids? And you always have to answer no…it hurts a little every time.”

To all of these friends, I see you and I am listening.

I am grateful, beyond words, for a mother worth celebrating. She goes out of her way to make sure that people feel seen and heard.

Despite an impossible list of things to do, she would stop and talk with the butcher about his health problems.

Despite a dwindling checking account, she would buy groceries for the person struggling.

She would stop and pray with the person she just met in line at the bank and ask the teller about her new grandchild.

She was a mom to all of my friends, the queen of field trips and extra hugs.

She listened to the lonely, cried with the broken, rejoiced with relieved.

I see it in my siblings; I aspire to be like her. Mom, we saw, we listened.

George McDonald said, “If instead of a gem, or even a flower, we should cast the gift of a loving thought into the heart of a friend, that would be giving as the angels give.

This Mother’s Day, I am so grateful for the gifts my mother gave me. I am grateful for the children I have been given. I am grateful for my friends and family. I want you to know that you are seen, you are loved, and I am listening.

Tomorrow is the day! I’m so excited to be heading out to Santa Barbara county to meet and learn from some of the top wine writers. But, I’ve got to say, I’ve been feeling a little out of my league. So what is a girl to do? Well, some training, of course. And how does a SAHM find time for training with the littles out of school? Well, put them to work, of course.

This is how a SAHM prepares for Wine Bloggers Conference 2014.

WARNING: self-deprecating silliness follows. No child-labor was exploited. No alcohol was consumed. Just some packing procrastination.

Now, it may be a little late to join my training program, (my trainers are really exclusive) but I won’t judge your techniques if you don’t judge my video production skills.

Thank you again to the sponsors and those who generously donated so that could be a part of this. I hope I don’t lose my scholarship/credibility. Santa Barbara, here comes trouble! Cheers!

This morning I heard the news that we lost a woman of incredible valor. I’ve absorbed her words, envied her confidence, and admired the grace with which she conducted herself. I had intended to share some news today, but it somehow felt inappropriate. And then I read this quote shared on Oprah Winfrey’s site. She said one of the best lessons that she learned from Dr. Angelou was this: “When you learn, teach. When you get, give.” It was then that I realized this was exactly the kind of news I should be sharing.

A few months ago, I applied for a scholarship to the Wine Bloggers Conference in Santa Barbara County. A SAHM doesn’t exactly earn a salary, so it would hard to justify the expense, but I knew it was a unique learning opportunity. I have connected with so many other writers online. I have found mentors and support, encouragement and inspiration.

In August, I will have been writing for three years. I have not yet acquired any certifications or attended any seminars. I have yet to take it to the next level or monetize my blog. With the changes in Facebook policies it seems my reach has lessened. At times, it can feel as if what I am doing doesn’t really “count.” But I want it to matter. I want to build something of value, monetary or otherwise. I want to reach beyond, to connect, to be seen. And although my current schedule allows minimal time for exploration and writing, I see the light at the end of the tunnel. My children are growing and I want to grow with them.

Yesterday afternoon, I was beginning to write when I saw the email pop up in the corner. “Congratulations! You have been…” I couldn’t see the full subject line but I assumed it ended with a “…chosen to take a survey.” Or “…have a chance to win a Carnival cruise.” And then I saw the sender: Thea@WBC Scholarship. Holy Moly! What? Me? How? AAAAAAHHHHH!!!!

So, I am going! I am beyond excited and grateful for the opportunity to meet so many I’ve long admired. I’m so humbled to have been chosen. I am so excited to drink good wine…I mean…have a break from my kids….I MEAN learn from all of the talented writers that will be there. Truly.

Thank you Wine Bloggers Conference Scholarship Committee. Thank you to all of you that donated so that I can be there. Thank you to all of you that will be sharing your insight and wisdom. Thank you for teaching what you’ve learned and giving of what you have.

I will be sharing more about the conference when it is in full swing and as I process. Right now, I would love to hear from those of you that have been. Tips? Water, spit…anything else? Ladies, what to wear? (Have to ask) Friends, when and where will you arrive? depart? Most importantly, when can we toast in person? Yay!!!!

How is that possible? It was a blink ago, I promise. It’s not that she is really “gone,” obviously, but it is the first of many steps in letting go. You hear it all the time. Cherish each day; it goes so fast. But when you’re in the middle of it, it doesn’t feel fast. The lonely nights from 1-5 am, feel like they’re never going to end. The hour before my husband gets home seems to drag with the kind of steady defiance reserved for acts like putting their shoes on when I am in a hurry or picking up their rooms, one lego at a painful time. And yet I took my baby to Kindergarten Monday.

She has always operated at her own pace. Although my body and my midwife told me, “Any day now,” three weeks before her due date, she came twelve days late. Although the moon was high, the house still and dark, she was hungry and restless. While all infants were napping, she decided to announce her independence by fighting me for two hours, only to give in for thirty minute nap.

Those were long, tireless days. Those days looked so different from what I had imagined. I had a great track record with all babies up to that point. But despite swaddling, coddling, despite being full, dry, bounced, walked, she would cry for hours in the early weeks for me. Then her father would come home, pick her up and she was, of course, done. But that was about all he could do for her, for me, because despite 4 types of pacifiers and 5 types of bottles, she was an “AintNothin’LiketheRealThing” kind of baby. All mom, all the time.

I was deep in the darkness. Deep in the fog. Deep in the “WhatdidIdotomylife?-WhyisMyShirtWet?-WhyDoesn’tMyBabyLikeMe?-WillIEverSleepAgain? Blues.” And then it was over. She didn’t fit on my chest anymore. She wanted to move and explore. She started to sleep and have opinions and feed herself and then I dropped her off at Kindergarten.

When her brother was born, I held him on my chest, tucked under my chin, as long as he would fit. I knew how quickly it would change.

When he started to toddle after her, I held him a little longer at bedtime.

When he mispronounces words, I am not so quick to correct him. He’ll do it soon enough and I love how he says, “Capation” for vacation.

And when he nearly breaks me with his “three-ness,” I remember that I was there with her and that at four I realized that she actually had been listening.

I was talking with husband this summer about the cruel, or maybe kind, parenting phenomenon that allows you to look back fondly on stages that, while you were in them, almost broke you. When they are infants, it is the lack of sleep. Everything is foggy and turns into a game of Survivor. But you always know where they are and they don’t argue about what’s for dinner. When they are toddlers, there is danger lurking around every coffee table, but they don’t ask you for Monster High junk. And I am in a pretty sweet spot right now. They are relatively innocent and sweet. They are curious and somewhat self-sufficient. They still think I am great and make me laugh every day. And just when I want to absorb (almost) every moment, I am sending her off.

I usually try to tie in something about wine, but how could I? There is nothing I can say about wine this week. Except that I’ve had some. And that next week I’ll likely be able to look back and tell you about the ones I enjoyed. But this week, I am missing my girl. And I am excited for her. And I am trying to absorb and enjoy this phase. Because I am sure I will blink and be sending her to middle school, to high school, to college. But that is more than I can even comprehend right now.

When we began planning our trip to Northern California I had visions of my husband and I running off to vineyards, or I would take off on my own for the day. I’d head up the Silverado trail or 37 solo, windows down, music up and not a hair out-of-place when I arrived for my tasting appointment. But apparently I was looking ahead with rose-colored glasses.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. We watched the sea lions on the Lost Coast, hiked in the redwoods, and relaxed on the beach in Tahoe. But that has meant that I have had three, yes, three days to visit wineries. Two brief appointments with the hubs and two while the hubs tried to manage the littles during my brief tour and taste.

In Tahoe, we broke even with the reds and the blacks on our date night. We had better luck with the pinks. Since it is Wine Blogging Wednesday on the topic of dry roses, I’m riding shotgun and doing a quick write-up on our way back from the Sierras.

In a recent post I highlighted a few dry roses from Provence. Here are a couple of gems from Sonoma.

J Vineyards Vin Gris Made from Pinot Noir, this is a gorgeous wine. Pale salmon, but don’t let the color fool you. This wine starts with light red fruit, a hint of tart acid and it finishes long and strong. We paired it with salmon with herbs and lemon and it was delicious. ($20)

Gundlach Bundschu Tempranillo Rose This one is almost at the opposite end of the color spectrum; think hibiscus tea. Super rich in color and flavor. Ripe red fruit, floral and spicy notes. It is the wine I first wrote about when I kicked off this site with “Punt,” (excuse the pun). Versatile, fun, and delicious. ($22)

Earlier this summer I wrote about how I was going to put more energy into my family than my writing. Even though the trip did not turn out like I was planning, it did serve as a test of my resolve to refocus. It did provide my family with some wonderful memories, challenges, and learning opportunities. My daughter will start Kindergarten shortly after we return. I can come back to Sonoma and Napa, but I can’t get this time back. I’d rather see things through her eyes than through any colored glasses.

We just crossed the Sonoma County line. We may need to make a quick stop at Gun Bun on the way back to my father-in-law’s. All this writing is making me thirsty.

Thanks to Lenn Thompson and Tim Elliot for bringing Wine Blogging Wednesday back with a great topic. Cheers!

I feel guilty buying wine when I have a closet full, but my closet is filled with mostly reds. At this time of the year, I am into pink. Or crisp, bright whites but that is another post. When dry Rosé started coming back on the scene a few years ago, I was a happy girl. Love it. Love, love, love. A few years ago, it was a little more challenging to find one that was under $20 that didn’t have a bite, but that seems to be changing. In the last few weeks I’ve had five, all under $20 and four out of five made it on my love list.

If you’ve tried one or two and aren’t sure if you like them, keep trying. Depending on the region, the grapes, the style, they vary widely. There are three main style of production. And because I am writing on borrowed time (sick kids) I am going to quote from an article on Wikipedia. It pains me, but if you read the previous post, you understand why.

When rosé wine is the primary product, it is produced with the skin contact method. Black-skinned grapes are crushed and the skins are allowed to remain in contact with the juice for a short period, typically one to three days.[3] The must is then pressed, and the skins are discarded rather than left in contact throughout fermentation (as with red wine making). The longer that the skins are left in contact with the juice, the more intense the color of the final wine.[4]

When a winemaker desires to impart more tannin and color to a red wine, some of the pink juice from the must can be removed at an early stage in what is known as the Saignée (from French bleeding) method. The red wine remaining in the vats is intensified as a result of the bleeding, because the volume of juice in the must is reduced, and the must involved in the maceration becomes more concentrated. The pink juice that is removed can be fermented separately to produce rosé.[5]

In other parts of the world, blending, the simple mixing of red wine to a white to impart color, is uncommon. This method is discouraged in most wine growing regions, especially in France, where it is forbidden by law, except for Champagne. Even in Champagne, several high-end producers do not use this method but rather the saignée method.[

Now for the fun part. I tried three from France and two from Texas. Here’s the lowdown.

1) I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I really like ChateaudeCampuget Costieres de Nimes Tradition Rose 2011. Good structure and fruit, bright minerality. Fresh, fun, and fruity. I’ve been feeling like that myself after a few sleepless nights. From the Rhone region, this wine is 70% Syrah, 30% Grenache.

2) From the Coteaux d’Aix in Provence, Bieler Père et Fils is making a lovely Rosé. As they should. This blend is 50% Syrah, 30% Grenache and 20% Cab. Great mouthfeel, both soft and sturdy which I like in my pink friends. The fruit and minerality is well-balanced. At around $12, it is a steal.

3) Chateau Paradis 2011 (on sale for $15) This was an interesting one to compare with the Bieler. I think the higher percentage of Grenache gave it a little more tannic bite. A great food wine, but it seemed a little harsh after sipping on the previous wine. I’d buy it again, but I’d serve it with , savory and herbal. Also from Coteaux d’Aix, it is 60% Grenache, 20% of both Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah.

4) Becker Vineyards in Fredricksburg, Texas recently released their ode to the above region with their 2012 Provencal Rosé. I really like this wine. A Grenache, Syrah, Mouvedre blend, this wine has earth and fruit. Fuller bodied, lively, great for summer barbeques or more refined fare. You can find it in the 10-12 range.

5) The first Rosé I fell for made in Texas was from McPherson Cellars. It is a little more fruit-forward than the others, but by no means sweet. This is a great one to introduce someone to the drier style of pink, and Texas wines! It retails for about $14 and is one of my favorites.

If you haven’t wandered down to the pink aisle yet, this gives to a place to start. Now I want to hear from you. Have you discovered any that I need to try? Share them!

And a little pat on my back and disclaimer. We’ve been fighting three kinds of funk in the last three weeks around here. After two nights this week of 3-5 hours of interrupted sleep, I managed to write something, so you can’t get rid of me that easily. I won’t say it’s my best work, but it works. And since I wrote half of this with my son sitting in my lap, I neglected nothing. I think that’s a win-win. Cheers!

My dear friend in high school had a nick name for my mother, “Florabunda.” She named her that because my mom has always had an affinity for flowers. Many times along our cross-country trips we would hear, “Oh Gene! Look at the flowers.” It became a family joke, but it is one thing I love about her. She taught us the names of the wildflowers, the smell of the lilacs. She taught us to pause and appreciate nature, the unique beauty of the regions, of ourselves. This has been a crazy week, so I had no time to make it to the card store. But another thing she taught us is that it is the gifts from the heart that mean the most. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

Last week I had the pleasure of chatting with other wine lovers and professionals about the great wines coming out of the Finger Lakes. We tasted Lemberger, Pinot Noir, and two Russian grapes that were new for me, Sapervi and Sereksiya. I always learn something from the producers and writers, but this year, one 140 character tidbit in particular keeps ringing around in my head. Julia Burke, NyWineWench, wrote “Nice of YOU to appreciate it (instead of comparing NY reds to Napa cab)! ” to which Mary Cressler of Vindulge responded, “No way!! NY is NY. CA is CA. OR is OR. Absolutely no need to ever compare to each other. They are who they are!” This idea is one that extends to other areas of our lives, doesn’t it?

If you have been drinking wine for any period of time, you’ve likely come across the idea of terroir, the expression of the land found in wine. Now, there are debates over this, but I’ll leave you to research that for yourself. I am more interested in the general idea of comparing. If you open a Pinot from New York and expect it to taste like one from California, you might be taken aback. If you open one from Burgundy and expect it to taste like one Oregon, you may (or may not) be surprised. Regardless of your expectation, if you don’t take the time to stop comparing, and enjoy it for what it is, you are likely going to miss out on something special.

The other night my brother-in-law made a fish dish, Halibut with Balsamic strawberries. I opened a Pinot from New York, hoping it would work, but it didn’t have the level of acid I was looking for. My husband suggested one of our “flagship” Pinots but I knew that it would be too big, too much black fruit for the dish. We opened the 2010 Stoller Pinot Noir from Dundee Hills and it was just right. Gorgeous cranberry red, red fruit, spice, a bit of fennel. Lovely.

Each Pinot had its own personality and it would be hard to compare them. One was great with fish while the other paired nicely with mushroom risotto. The other wine is big and beautiful, but it would have overpowered the dish. You just need the right wine for the right dish.

After a long day of mothering, a dear friend and I went for a walk last night, after dinner was served, dishes were done, while our husbands gave the children a bath. She was feeling pretty beat up. The worst offender? Herself. You see, she is a fantastic mom, but she doesn’t see it. She only sees that another friend never seems to lose it and she has THREE kids. She wonders how I find time to write and I have TWO kids. She thinks that she is not allowed to have a bad day and that she has no excuse for not get everything done because she only has ONE child. Which is funny, because I look at her super clean house and see how she’s so good and playing with her son and instructing him. I see that she’s in fantastic shape and takes him to the park and museum while I send my kids out in the yard so I can have 30 minutes to write.

Being a mother can, at times, feel like equal parts of joy and suffering. Comparison likes to rear its ugly head in both arenas. Comparing the successes and milestones, comparing the challenges and woes. This Mother’s Day, I challenge you, I challenge myself, to see the coming year through different eyes. How different would our day look if we choose grace, love, and mercy, not only for children but for ourselves? If instead of “doing more” we find peace and satisfaction in the “being?”

Brené Brown talks a lot about comparing in her book, The Gifts of Imperfection. In the book, her friend reminds her that “Comparison is the thief of happiness.” Isn’t it though? She reminds us that comparison is “paralyzing” and prevents us from being creative. If creativity is an expression of self, and we are worried about how we measure up to another’s standard, how can we be fully ourselves? If we try to mother our children in the way our neighbor does, is that really best for our child? There is always more to learn, ideas and inspiration to gain from others. But if we aren’t living authentically and being true to ourselves, living “wholeheartedly” as Brown say, then we are not fully living. You are the best mom for your child. You in your whole, complete self. Your whole and complete self can only be found by giving ourselves the space to be different, the grace to grow and fail.

Motherhood is full of “doing.” There is always more to “do.” But do you also value the being? There is a danger when our focus is on the “doing” rather than “being.” Life becomes exhausting and “it” will never get “done.” Is your value tied to what you accomplish or do you believe that who you are is enough? Being available to question while they explore? Being an example in your career or at the grocery store? Being a constant in their lives? A source of comfort? Isn’t that just as important?

Our children are a reflection of us in so many ways-in appearance, in behavior, talents, and challenges. Sometimes the reflection can be a little hard to take. Sometimes, it reflects something beautiful. It always reflects a unique image, an image that IS enough, just right for your child, just right for you. Do you appreciate its unique beauty or are you too busy comparing?

Addie Broyles of the Austin American Statesman interviewed me this week for pairings with a Mother’s Day brunch. One question she asked was what I wanted for Mother’s Day. In the pre-coffee fog, my immediate response was to not do dishes and to have a few moments of peace. Now, I still stand by that, but with some time to think, I have an additional response.

This Mother’s Day, I wish all of my friends, those that are mothers and those that are not, peace. Peace with oneself, peace in your home. May you come closer to understanding your fullness and not feel the need to compare. Enjoy what you can, let go of what you don’t. Do the dishes, don’t do the dishes, but keep it in perspective. Rejoice in the successes of others and strive to find your own success, with your OWN definition. Love big and with grace. And enjoy what is in YOUR glass, right here, right now.

I need to add a big Happy Mother’s Day to my own mom, a woman who always loved big, who was always there, and has never fully seen all the beauty in her own reflection. Cheers!

Today is Deed Day for the Gundlach Bundschu winery. Last year, in honor of the day, I republished the poem which took first place in their poetry contest in 2011. It was in honor of the family’s history, their growth, and an ode to all farmers, really. This year, I’ll go back to the poem that took third place in 2010. It is a more personal poem written about my experience adjusting to life as a stay-at-home mom and about tapping into the memories associated with their wine. Happy Deed Day, Gundlach Bundschu! The excerpt below was previously published in 2011 as “Poetry in Motion.”

It was about a year and a half ago when I first decided to “put myself out there.” Writing again…publically…as in let-someone-I don’t-know-read-my-thoughts. I hadn’t written anything creatively in years. Not since the tumultuous relationship of my 20s with the distant artist type. But I found the right catalyst.

My 2 yr old daughter was watching Elmo, my 3 month old son was sleeping. Browsing Facebook (a SAHMs only social outlet some days) I came upon a poetry contest that was being held by Gundlach Bundschu, one of our favorite wineries in Sonoma. The history of this estate vineyard is amazing. Some of my best memories in Sonoma are at Rhinefarm so it was easy to find inspiration.

I reflected on our visits there. Newlyweds, no responsibilities, fine wine, blue teeth. Now, we were lucky to get to open a bottle of their wine and remember… I figured I had about 15 minutes so I knocked out a few stanzas (the 152 word limit) and would revisit it when the fog cleared from another sleepless night. A few tweaks later, I sent it off. What could it hurt?

It didn’t hurt anything. Instead, it healed. It reminded me that there was a me before diapers, nightfeeds, dishes, and dustpans. A me that was an okay writer once upon a time. A me that could capture a sentiment in words, even if only for myself. I received third place in the contest, but really I received much more than that. So here it is, an ode to Gundlach Bundschu, to wine, to my kids, my husband…and to me.